Toast of the Town

For many adults over the age of forty, Facebook is merely an occasional time-waster. One can borrow witty posts from others and repurpose them as one’s own. One can play online games (I’d call this wasting time, but don’t look at me). One can use it for surveillance of former friends, or to boast about one’s accomplishments, about one’s kids’ successes, and, increasingly, to eulogize a dead relative or pet. Or one can use it to spy on one’s children (recommended).

It so happened that in early November of last year, a forty-plus-year-old woman, stuck in bed due to a bruised sacrum and herniated disc, spent way too many hours on Facebook while whiling away the time on round-the-clock doses of Percocet (also recommended). The drugs didn’t allow for a careful reading of “Gone Girl,” so the invalid plunged into Facebook. And then she posted a lot on Facebook, perhaps in an altered state. And she received many responses to her postings about Paula Broadwell and Jill Kelley and Jill Kelley’s twin sister, whose name she can no longer recall.

Once the woman’s lower back healed and she decided to get up and live again, she noticed that her old toaster oven was no longer doing its thing efficiently. At the end of each cycle, one side of the toast would be untoasted and the reverse side would be charred. Brimming with stored energy, the woman decided to take advantage of her new Facebook peers and ask a question to one and all: “We need a new toaster-oven. Any recommendations, friends?”

The date was November 30, 2012.

Within a couple of hours, there were over sixty responses, many of them chiding the woman for using a toaster oven and not a classic toaster and a separate oven. Many of those who felt strongly enough to comment on the Facebook post had never met the woman in person. The woman did her research, and within the hour she had purchased a new toaster oven on Amazon. She announced this information on the growing thread, and thought no more about it.

By the next morning, the woman was invited to join a new page on Facebook. The page was called Lisa’s New Toaster (Good Things Come from Toasters). There were already seventy-eight members on the page by the time the woman, also called Lisa, joined. Some of the names were familiar from their TV credits—writers and producers of “Thirtysomething,” “Friends,” and “Seinfeld,” were among the first wave. The founder of the page, a fellow called Daryl Rowland, of Cleveland, decided to start it “without too much introspection—because I’d never started one before. I’m not a huge Facebook person, and just before I pressed the key [to start the page] as best as I can recall, I was thinking this could be a fun group of people. My only expectation was to get people to talk to one another. It was playful.” Rowland, a former TV comedy writer (“Dream On,” “Ellen”) turned political blogger, seemed to understand that his filament of an idea had legs.

Almost immediately, without anyone raising the obvious question—why does this page exist?—members began posting all manner of toast-related trivia. Somehow, Rowland had touched a nerve. There was inflatable toast. Novelty toasters. Thong underwear with images of pop-up toasters on them. Sara Sprung, a New York investment professional, introduced the science of toast. “Toast is made by the The Maillard reaction, a form of non-enzymatic browning. It results from a chemical reaction between an amino acid and a reducing sugar, usually requiring heat.” Anne Dodd, an actress from Fort Myers, Florida, posted a widely admired photograph of toast artfully arranged in her shower. Jamie Fishman, a Manhattan lawyer, found a site that can reproduce images on toast. The actress and writer Sharon O’Connell posted a picture of her brother-in-law’s toaster, which imprints the Yankees logo on toast. The writer Andy (Electroboy) Behrman added an article about toast addiction.

Not a day went by without new silliness. Then not an hour went by. The more constant presences showed their personalities: this guy likes double entendres, this woman is more ladylike; that woman loves puns and bathroom humor, this guy posts late into the night. By mid-January, the group, now a hundred and nineteen strong, was clamoring to meet.

Beyond being a place for puns, Lisa’s New Toaster page became a respite. Tony Ramirez, a former New York Times reporter wrote, “For some reason, I make this group one of my first stops at break-fast. Mr. Carson, is there more marmalade?” Typical posts including things like, “This is where I come several times during the day and night to escape the most difficult and stressful period in my life. It’s my support group for right now. I toast all of you.” “Thanks Toasterites.” “You did such a great job on the toaster, can anyone suggest a coffeemaker?” And so on.

The advertising critic Barbara Lippert and Fishman, the attorney, volunteered to do reconnaissance at a restaurant called, naturally, Toast, on Broadway and 105th Street. With a favorable Martini review, the adventure took on momentum. A March date was determined, and a menu and agenda were chosen.

As the members of the group arrived at the appointed time, the giddiness increased. Was it the name tags someone had prepared using Velcroed toast points? Was it the potency of the drinks? Thanks to Facebook profile photos, everyone was easily identifiable. It appeared that the people in the group ranged in age from forty to sixty years old.

Alas, Mr. Rowland had to cancel at the last minute, but Lee Schwebel, the scion of Schwebel’s Bakery, in Youngstown, Ohio, flew in for the occasion. He received a gift of cork coasters in the shape of bread for his trouble. He was gracious about them, too, as he probably has several hundred of them already in his hundred-and-six-year-old company’s bread-and-toast archive.

Anne Dodd was telephoned. Honoré Ervin, of Springfield, Massachusetts, was Skyped. Many photographs were taken. The smoked salmon on toast points was divine. The bruschetta hit the spot. There was even a goody bag. After two hours, the new friends staggered out of Toast realizing they’d done the exact thing they’ve repeatedly and explicitly warned their children never to do. They’d met complete strangers from the Internet in person.

Lisa Shear Shawn posted the next morning: “To all of you who were there last night, can’t tell you how great it was to finally hang with my Toast posse in the flesh.”

The West Coast Toast meeting date is still up in the air.

Illustration by Morgan Elliott.

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